Before she had ceased speaking, Arkwright was at her side with an exclamation of eager acquiescence.
It was after the second duet that Arkwright asked, a little diffidently.
“Have you written any new songs lately?”
“No.”
“You're going to?”
“Perhaps—if I find one to write.”
“You mean—you have no words?”
“Yes—and no. I have some words, both of my own and other people's; but I haven't found in any one of them, yet—a melody.”
Arkwright hesitated. His right hand went almost to his inner coat pocket—then fell back at his side. The next moment he picked up a sheet of music.
“Are you too tired to try this?” he asked.